There are some days where I want to bury myself in life, real life, not society’s whims, and fall down the rabbit hole and, unlike Alice, find solace there, home there, me there. I want to wrap myself in the sound of a bird’s call, walk down the path of dewy green grass barefoot and slip through the trees, losing myself, my voice, and only possessing the power to see, feel, smell, taste, hear. I want to embed the orange and pinks of the sky as the sun sets into me; I want to crawl under a rose bush and have the silk petals become my skin, the seductive scent of flowers blooming entangle itself in my hair permanently. I want all of this, the owl’s cry at night, the star’s glittering winks, the moon’s yawn, the sun’s warm laugh, the dirt’s fresh breath of life to become me, coil itself in me until nobody can tell where I begin and where life as we know it ends.

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